The Polar Ends (Sequel to Black Ice)
by ladylibre
Summary: The second story in my Roseward Saga. After the Christmas disaster, Roseward is separated by distance, hurt, and confusion. As fate pulls them toward their canon mates, will they find a way to salvage the good from their past or forever remain estranged by misunderstanding? **NOT a stand-alone story... Read BLACK ICE first**
1. Chapter 1: Adrift

**Disclaimer: SM owns everything in the Twiverse, but please don't steal my plot.**

**Welcome back, Roseward fans! I present "The Polar Ends," the next part of the "Black Ice" saga. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Chapter 1: Adrift**

**Edward's POV**

Time, I have found, is a cruel mistress.

It has no regard for my preference, no ability to heal or hasten.

Instead it mocks, holding my heart hostage beneath a thin veneer of chronological oncern.

A heart I neither deserve nor need.

For of what use is a heart in the chest of the dead?

"Is he still out there?"

The female's cautious voice reaches me despite her attempts at a whisper. Her mind is equal parts alarmed and affectionate, flooding mine with thoughts of the caramel-haired creature I left behind.

I wonder for the first time how she is.

I wonder if she wonders about me.

I wonder if it matters.

"Yes." Her partner replies, his thoughts less benevolent. "And I am ready to confront him."

"Don't, dearest." She lays a comforting hand against his arm. "He must have come here for a reason."

"And as this is our land and our realm," he counters, "would it not behoove him to make those reasons known?"

"Perhaps he is unable." She is too close to the truth, and I contemplate leaving for the second time in as many days. "Perhaps silence is all he can offer, and we should accept it."

Her mate frowns, unhinged by her compassionate logic. Though a very different man than the one who recommended me, I see their similarities. They are well-matched, well-mated, and in possession of the very thing I covet and lack.

I hate them both.

"This will not stand when our family returns," he warns, his mind drifting toward a trio of blondes with exotic eyes. "They will demand answers."

"They will follow our lead," she replies gently. "And we must set a proper example. Starting with this." She tugs him away from the window. "No more staring."

He does not move, and she uses more force. "Eleazar?"

"In a moment_._" His thoughts are tender toward his bride though his voice is harsh. "I feel there is something about him I am missing."

"You think he might be gifted?"

He shakes his head. "I cannot tell at this distance. He is just out of range, as if intentionally holding himself aloft. That alone gives me pause."

"Did Carlisle's letter say anything of import?"

At the mention of his old friend's name, Eleazar smiles. "He would sooner resort of a life of human-guzzling than divulge more than is necessary. But from his tone, I suspect you are correct about the young man's need for silence."

"Then let us leave him be." She laces her fingers through his, squeezing lightly. He turns toward her, his heart melting at the sight, and smiles.

"As you wish, Carmenita." He cups her face and presses soft, meaningful kisses against her mouth.

My hand darts out to crush the first thing it touches.

I apologize to the broken tree, burying myself deeper in the snow-capped quiet, wishing I could catch my death.

—T—P—E—

I do not bother counting the days since I left.

Fed.

Moved.

Smiled.

Though the latter statistic needs no calculation.

I left my smiles with her.

A sharp pain strikes me in the heart, and I curse myself for remembering.

"_It did not happen. She does not exist."_

But the pronoun is enough to unravel the halting progress I have made over the past several weeks, and I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

In vain do I struggle, for the images appear unbidden, stronger than I remember.

The luxurious gold of her hair.

The confident elegance of her walk.

The husky lilt of her laugh.

I try to drive the memories away, knowing their damning destination, but I cannot.

A hapless child playing a man's game.

The sloping curve of her bare shoulder.

The darkening of her eyes before a kiss.

The luscious heat of her mouth.

I tremble where I sit, folding in on myself as the end approaches.

The gentle strength of her touch.

The moist stroke of her tongue.

The wanting ache in her sigh.

And then…

Again…

Always…

"_I can do this for him. I must. It is why I was created."_

A corresponding roar escapes my chest before I can stop it, rattling the rocks around me. I will them to fall, wishing they could crush me and end my suffering.

But they break against me like petty waves on a jagged shore, and I thrust my hands in my hair.

When will the torture end?

"Ah, here you are."

At the vocal intrusion, my eyes snap open.

I relax, seeing only a solid wall of white before me.

My mind has finally lost its grip on reality, and the thought cheers me.

I may survive yet.

"Why are you hiding out here alone?"

The sultry sound seems to double in volume the second time, and I turn my aching head toward it.

And as its source comes into view, I am dumbfounded by the sight.

**And so it begins. What do you think?**


	2. Chapter 2: Blonde Ambition

**Disclaimer: SM owns everything in the Twiverse, but please don't steal my plot.**

**So Edward has a visitor, hmmm? Let's see what this is about…**

**Chapter 2: Blonde Ambition**

**Edward's POV**

I blink once to disprove my sight.

It is wrong and must be.

For at least three reasons.

One.

_She_ does not know where I am.

Two.

If she did, she would have no reason to be kind.

Three.

And most importantly.

I do not deserve to see her again.

Not after the way I left.

After that_._

After all.

After all which is nothing at all.

Because I left.

So I blink again and focus, relieved to discover my error.

This is a vision but not my dream.

It is not _she _ but a keen approximation.

Blonde.

Beautiful.

Beyond my ken.

I turn away again, despairing.

It is too much, too soon.

Yet not enough.

Nothing will ever be enough.

Ever again.

"_He is aware of my presence, yet he does not reply. How odd!"_

She is curious, unafraid, and tries again aloud.

"Are you mute?" Her tone is airy despite its depth. "Blind? Deaf?"

I say nothing, vaguely annoyed by her refusal to leave.

"Nomadic? European?" She gasps as if inspired. "Gay?"

I am unable to suppress a snort, earning a knowing nod. "I should have known. The pretty ones always are."

Begrudgingly I face her. "Why are you here?"

"Because 'here' is my home, so I can be anywhere I want." She flops beside me, amused by my refusal to engage. "What is your excuse?"

She goads me on purpose, scooting closer and daring me to topple sideways. And despite my best attempts to avoid it, my lips form a small smile. "You are rather irritating."

"And you are intentionally alone in a snow-covered wilderness instead of inside the house where there is warmth, laughter, and clean clothes, all in ample supply." Her elegant nose wrinkles. "Tell me there is a reason for such deprivation."

_She_ appears behind my lids as if summoned: fiery eyes caressing and chaffing me.

"There is a reason."

"Care to share?"

"No."

I expect my curtness to ward her off, but she remains, sympathetic and steady with no need for details.

Were I worthy of amiable company, she might do.

"Fair enough," she replies at great length, by which point I have nearly lost the thread of conversation. "Might I at least learn your name?"

"As if Carlisle didn't already inform you."

"That is in no way a proper introduction." She springs to her feet, the movement powerful in its grace. "And I am nothing if not proper."

She curtsies with a thorough roll of her eyes, bullying the corners of my mouth upward again.

"As you wish." I come slowly upright, swiping the snow and soot from my clothes as best I can. "I am Edward Masen."

She notes my use of a different surname than the doctor's. "Katrina. Or Kate." Another eye roll. "A pleasure to meet you, Edward."

She sticks out her hand with a smile, and I jump back, a low growl escaping me. The notion of touching her, of touching anyone else ever again is repugnant enough to make my insides quiver with fear and loathing.

To say nothing of this woman saying my name.

A woman other than _her._

Unbearable.

"It is all right." I come to notice Kate's hands are raised in a gentle gesture of surrender. "A polite head nod will suffice."

Aghast I close my eyes, freshly swaddled in a new layer of shame.

I should not have come here.

"All is truly well. There is no need for such censure." Her whisper is kind, making it worse. "You are averse to physical touch, and that is your right." She drops her hands, suddenly smiling. "Though it would certainly be a first around here."

Her mind shifts, and the fleshly images drop me to my knees, gasping for breath.

Too much, too soon.

Too close.

Too close to us.

To _her_.

Her skin, her touch.

Her lips, her sighs.

Her name.

I can almost taste it.

Feel it on my tongue.

I need it.

Need her.

_Rosalie… _

_Please… forgive me.  
_

"What is it?" Kate's voice startles me again as she drops into a crouch beside me, careful to avoid contact. "Do you need something? Are you wounded? Is there something…"

"I… I just need to be alone."

"Are you certain?" She considers calling the rest of her clan, a bombardment of carnality and concern I could in no wise handle. "I would hate to see you in a…"

"Katrina." I am a hair's breadth from begging. "Please."

She comes to her feet with furrowed brows but does not reply. Through her gaze, I see what I have become: a shattered husk of a man unfit for company or conversation. And though the loss of _her_ society burns like venom through virgin veins, I am pleased by my decline.

It is the least I can do.

"One month," she says. "You have one more month to idle undisturbed while I excuse your absence."

"I appreciate the thought." I consider looking up but cannot bear to raise my head. "But I do not need you to cover me."

"You do, young one. More than you realize." There is a too long beat of silence in which she debates how much to reveal, unaware I see it all. "That is, I came as a preliminary scout, an envoy of sorts. And you"—her eyes roam my slim frame, cocking an eyebrow—"are too enigmatic not to explore." She tsks under her breath. "She's gonna have a field day."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, releasing it when I am assailed by a memory of _her_ mimicking the action. "Does your sister not understand the concept of a man wanting to be alone?"

"No, I am afraid she does not. Nor, might I add, did I supply our relational connection." She glances sidelong at me, her interest fully piqued. "A telepath, then? Even better."

I spit a low oath, willing a volcano to rise from the slush and swallow me whole.

"Should you choose to stay on, it will be nice to have another gifted creature here," she says warmly. "I do tire of being the only one."

"And what is your gift?"

She smirks down at me. "As if you have not already heard my thoughts."

The triggered trap is sprung, and it is too late to run.

I am caught.

"_Yes, you heard my thoughts! But you know nothing of their meaning, their origin, or their importance relative to the greater truth…"_

"Don't be sullen, not-Cullen," she smiles. "I am teasing."

I can be nothing but sullen, for _she_ is not done.

"_And if you walk away now… If you leave me now, what you heard is all you will ever know. Of me."_

"Let us say my talent is… quite shocking!"

The shock is I have lasted this long.

That I have survived the end I handed us both.

"_As you have said, let it be so."_

"Edward?"

Again I die.

Eternally dead, lifeless am I.

But without _her_ I die.

Always and again.

"Edward?"

"Yes?" My reply is too high and too loud, and Kate stares at me in alarm. "Where were you?"

"Lost in thought, one might say." I clear my throat, forcing a smile. "So you have a tactile gift."

"I do."

"How does it work?"

"Perhaps I will show you. Some other time."

She is worried for me, a hopeless sojourner on her family's land, and I cannot bear it.

"Return to the house, Katrina." I can no longer feign wellness. "You are wasting your time."

"My time is mine to waste or spend according to my whims," she says with authority. "As is yours, I suppose."

She sighs, her sympathy enveloping me like an ill-fitting cloak.

"One month, Edward," she proclaims. "Then I shall return to retrieve you. Or send Carmen, perhaps."

She seems reluctant to allow her sisters near me, the one sister in particular, and I am once again awash in her willingness to protect me.

Protection I have in no way earned.

"I cannot allow you to trouble yourself." I meet her artless eyes, unable to hold them. "I shall come to the house by then."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"Then I leave you to it."

She does not believe me but takes immediate leave, and it is just as well.

My word is as useless as I am.

But in the wake of her departure, another promise whispers in the wind.

Another promise from a former life.

"_Edward, you will not lose me." Her soft sincerity seeps into my aching heart, searching for a safe place to rest. "No matter what happens, you will never lose me."_

_I grip her more surely, holding on to everything she is, praying she will pardon all I am not. _

_I know the latter to be impossible, yet I cannot stop myself from murmuring, "You promise?"_

_She lifts my head, searing the words on my soul as she stares right into it. "I promise."_

_She _promised.

And she meant it.

For she was a seraph of uncommon veracity.

A flawless truth made flesh.

It is I who defied, who made her lie.

Choking our fantasy with my inescapable inadequacies.

"_If I must lose you… let it not be by my own foolish hands."_

Did I not say those words before she gave her vow?

What sort of creature forecasts the end, knows the carnage it will cause, then uses the innocent to bring it to pass?

The sort who needs vacate this place before poisoning another well.

Repaying their kindness with inevitable decay.

Resolved, I raise my eyes and come to my feet.

It is time to go.

"_Do not do to them what you have done to me, Edward. They do not deserve it."_

I halt in my tracks, whipping my head around as I search the terrain in vain.

She is not here.

Cannot be here.

I know this.

Yet…

Is she not everywhere I am?

My shadow and shame?

My passion and pain?

The darling dove I plucked and twisted into an albatross to hang about my worthless neck?

My dead bones liquefy, and I sink to the frozen floor, unhinged by the audial apparition.

"Neither do you, love." I break on the endearment. "Neither do you."

The sobs return with a vengeance, and I baptize myself in their tearless sting. Wallowing willfully in her chastisement, I accept my fate with open hands.

It is the very least and all I deserve.

**Poor Edward! He's in a bad place but seems to have found a friend in Kate. And that's a very good thing.**

**Working on the next ALWD update, but Bella's voice eludes me. Meanwhile I hit 17k in Nano yesterday *high-fives self* and am aiming for 20k by tomorrow. **

**Wish me luck in both and I'll see you soon! xoxo**


	3. Chapter 3: A Walk in the Woods

**Disclaimer: SM owns everything in the Twiverse, but please don't steal my plot.**

**WOW, has it really been six weeks?!**

**Okay. Looks like I need to confess.**

**I''ve been considering deleting this fic and penning a three one-shot sequel to Black Ice, a much-condensed version of my plans for the rest of the saga. **

**See... I fear I've lost my Roseward mojo—beyond the confusion my recent unexplained health troubles have caused. It's like… the magic of this story to me is Roseward themselves, their dynamic and energy, and that magic is lost by their necessary separation. I don't want to give y'all a sub-par product, yet I know three one-shots, no matter how thorough, could never hit all the emotional/psychological notes I seek to explore with the rest of their journeys to Bella and Emmett. **

**BIGFATHEAVYSIGH.**

**I'm still mulling it over, but I wanted to post this chapter ****at least****. I don't know. Maybe I'm just lost because Ed is so lost right now. **

**And maybe Rosalie can help us both.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Walk in the Woods**

**Rosalie's POV**

I sit on a rock in the forest, taking in the sights and sounds of the afternoon. Once addicted to the hustle and bustle of society, I am now most at ease among the wordlessness of God's creation.

What a strange creature I have become, an alien unto myself.

One year ago, I was lost in quiet contemplation, deciding whether to follow or lead my heart. I was spoiled, rottenly so, believing I had an eternity ahead of me.

Of _us_.

There were no labels, no titles or names bestowed, but we had no need of such things because we knew the truth. We knew what we were, what we wanted and why. And we were content.

Or so I'd thought.

Hindsight is many things, it seems, though helpful is not one of them.

I know less now than I did when he left.

Though much eludes me, I am able to think of him, if only circumspectly, without debilitating pain. He hovers in my every moment, his velvety voice haunting me with its accusations and ache. But as I now know his location, I am better able to handle the deprivation.

Better being a relative term.

Esme tricked her husband into telling me. He was on the sofa, reading aloud from a recent letter from an acquaintance. She spotted me through the window and waited until after he reached the portion which divulged _his_ location to exclaim in a whisper, "Leave off. Rosalie is coming." When I entered the house a few minutes later, Dr. Cullen's abashment was genuine, but Esme did not meet my eyes.

It was just as well. They were stinging with tears I couldn't cry.

Alaska.

Otherwise known as, "As far away from me as he could get without leaving the country."

On the surface, I was offended, angry he could put so much space between us. But beneath and through it all, I was riddled with guilt so deep I expected a scarlet G to appear above my breast.

From his departure and embarrassment to my wounds and loneliness, all of this was my fault. Truly he should not have been reading my mind at such a moment, but how can I blame him when his defenses were so beautifully lowered? There had been nothing between us but intense intentions, and my thoughts should have been entirely focused on him, on what he made me feel.

And feel I did.

Given how we ended, I should regret my wantonness, my shameless enjoyment of his kisses and sighs. I should hate Dr. Cullen for changing me and Mrs. Cullen for encouraging an ill-fated liaison between _him _and me.

But I do not.

I cannot.

If the last night of my human life proved me anything, it is this: I can survive pain, thrive in spite of it. I can become more than I was with less than I started with.

If I can just hold on.

The sun finally peeks from behind the clouds, a blinding wink at my resolve, and I am grateful.

—T—P—E—

I am picking flowers for Esme's table when I hear it.

An ear-piercing screech cutting into the silent serenity of the forest.

Though the sound comes from a great distance, the scream hits me in the chest as if originating within me. My eyes dart around, seeing nothing, but I am on my feet in an instant, praying for an encore that I might discover its location.

My sudden curiosity is rivaled only by impatience, but I have no time to wonder why as I hear it again.

This time, fainter than the first.

It comes from the southwest. On the far side of the mountain.

I run faster than I have since the night I awakened to this life.

The night I awakened to... then ran away from _him._

"_Stop running, you coward… and face me!"_

He faced my insults and told me the truth.

And I punished him for it, as I did for everything else he ever did for me.

(No, Rose. Now is not the time.)

Leaping over a jagged cavern, the scent of human blood assaults and brings me to a halt. I close my eyes, fisting my hands at my sides, and count backwards from a very high number. I have yet to taste human blood, and I do not plan to start now.

I hold my breath and speed on as a third cry is cut off, replacing by a choking sound. With a start, I realize someone is drowning in their own blood.

And will die if I don't do something.

But I am no doctor and have no idea how to improve whatever situation I might find. Dr. Cullen is at work, and Esme's hugs and hospitality would hardly be balm enough.

And assuming the human survives until Dr. Cullen returns home, do I have the right to impose upon his expertise? To ask him to help a human who could repay his kindness with a threat of exposure?

The choking becomes a gargle, and my hastened flight decides.

I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.

Through the brush, around a large rock, and over a fallen tree, I see him.

And my dead heart leaps in my chest.

Blood everywhere.

Limbs lodged in unnatural positions.

Internal organs exposed.

But for all of that, for everything grotesque, there is something else.

Something more.

A face.

A sweet, boyish face.

A lovely, sweet, boyish face haloed by dark curly hair.

He is The Word made flesh.

I fall to my knees at his quivering side, heedless of the cost to my newest dress. My hand brushes blood and grime from his troubled forehead, and I am stunned when he seems to relax. His eyes flutter, meeting mine for the briefest of moments, and his lips curl into a smile.

Mine echo in response, and I lay a chastening finger upon their silent movements. "Save your strength."

My hand slips to the hollow beneath his jawline, praying for a miracle. His pulse is slow, too weak for human detection, and I sigh, cupping his clammy cheek. "Hold on, my angel. We must fly."

I lift him with careful ease, grateful for my strength, wishing I were softer. He tries to fasten his arms around my neck but fails, and they fall uselessly at my side. I hold him that much closer, brushing his forehead with my lips. "It is all right. I will not let you go."

And something in my soul cries out, "Amen."

—T—P—E—

"Carlisle!" I kick open the front door of the house without losing a step. "Come quickly!"

"What is going—" The words die on Esme's tongue as she rises from the couch. "Rosalie, what have you done?"

"Where is Carlisle? There is no time to waste!"

"He is on his way home." Esme approaches me with wary eyes. "It is his lunch hour, remember?"

I turn toward the front door. "Then we must meet him halfway down the mountain."

"Rosalie!" Esme's shout forces me to face her. "What have you done?"

My eyes narrow as I catch her meaning. "Look at me! Do I look like I've consumed human blood?"

"Yes! Your clothes, your face, your mouth… you are covered in it."

I look down, following her gaze, but all I see is the angel in my arms.

"Now... if you did this, we can figure it out," Esme continues. "We might have to move again, but that is of little consequence. But first you must tell me…"

"I did not attack him. I am trying to save him if you'd cease with all the questions!"

Her hands find her hips. "Then why is his blood on your lips?"

"That does not matter right now! We need to find Carlisle and…"

"What is going on in here?" Carlisle bursts through the door, his golden eyes aflame as they drop to the barely-breathing bundle in my arms. "Oh, Rosalie…"

"Can we stop assuming the worst and help him? There isn't much time!"

Carlisle studies my eyes. "Very well. We can take him to my…"

"Come." I speed to my bedroom, laying my precious cargo gently down with a brush of my lips against his forehead. Esme gasps, and I realize I have just kissed this stranger in front of them.

After only doing so with _him _ for spite and sport.

Carlisle kneels by my bed, checking his injuries. "What can you tell me?"

"I was on the other side of the mountain when I heard him screaming. By the time I arrived, he was alone and in this state."

"His attacker?"

"Gone. But there were bear tracks in the mud, so I…" Labored breathing from the bed halts my explanation and pacing, and I drop to the doctor's side. "Please tell me you can save him."

He does not reply, and the ensuing silence rocks me to my core. "No."

"I'm sorry. Though transfusions would stem the blood loss, his internal injuries are too severe."

I shake my head, his words impossible. "I'm taking him to the hospital for a second opinion."

"There is no time." He comes to his feet, wiping his brow. "And the needless travel would exacerbate his pain, hasten the inevitable."

I wince at the last word, shaking it immediately off. "No."

"I am very sorry, Rosalie." He comes to his feet, laying a gentle hand on my head. "I sincerely wish there was something I could do."

His phrasing grabs my attention, and I look up with renewed hope. "There is."

"I do not understand."

"Don't you?"

He frowns as I come to my feet, but it is Esme who speaks. "Are you… are you asking Carlisle to make him one of us?"

Carlisle gapes at his bride before returning to my unblinking gaze. "A life for a life, Dr. Cullen."

He closes his eyes, shaking his head. "Rosalie, I cannot…"

"You cannot?" The man on my bed groans, and I soften my voice. "You changed me for Edward but cannot do this for me?"

It is the first time _his_ name has been spoken aloud since the New Year, and we three feel the blow together. Carlisle's eyes widen, and I fight the stab of betrayal in my heart.

I shall answer for that later.

"How can you ask me this?" Carlisle's voice is barely audible. "As much as you hate this life, as much as you have suffered the past two years, how can you…"

"For all I've suffered these past four months, how can you deny me? Has my heartache been for nothing?" I sink to the bed, running my hands through my angel's hair, marveling that the contact calms _me_ down.

"Carlisle, please." The rush of emotion makes my voice quiver, but I am too frantic to care. "He cannot die, and I... as your daughter, I am asking you to save him."

He is silent above me, my holy maker, and I hold my breath as he idles. Should he refuse, I cannot tell what I would do.

Only that it would not be pretty.

Finally he sighs. "Stand aside."

I leap to my feet and throw my arms around his neck, covering him with dirt and desperation. "Thank you. With all of my heart, thank you."

He pats my back, and I close my eyes in relief. A pair of green eyes accuses me behind my lids, and I blink them away, forcing my focus on the future.

_A life for a life._

* * *

**Well... you know what? I think I'm okay now. It's just… it's weird seeing them apart, and I'm still adjusting to the separation as much as they are. Much of their journey has surprised me, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised to be surprised, right? **

**How are you liking it? Are you still with me? **

**I don't think I'll see you before Christmas, so have a merry and safe one. And I'll see you in the New Year (whoo-hoo!) with more from Rosalie's POV. xoox**


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